The explosion at my side, where the bullet went through, is much bigger than the size of a needle puncturing raw skin.

“I bring her back, I’m a hero. Duh. Even if loserboy’s with her.” He shrugs. “Let me ask you. Did you ever want to run this joint? I mean, do you have any idea what these people got going on?”

“I know exactly what they have going on.”

“I’m going to disinfect.” The doctor drones as if he’s talking to a man who isn’t even here. “Going to sting a bit.”

Sergio holds his answer until I’m done writhing around like a slug in a saltshaker.

“The money…” Sergio flaps his hand at the wrist to show how impressed he is. “I mean, they run some high cost, high risk operations, but the money is all foreign. All prelaundered. I got, like, a half of a half of a tiny glimpse of their liquid assets. They have more in rubles than a fucking bank.”

“Good luck spending it.”

He scoffs. “So you wanted to get up in their face, but you never wanted to take it over? Come on. Give me a break. What’s the point?”

I have to answer. I don’t care how much it hurts.

“Homes burned. Women widowed and freed. Wipe their history. Their stories about themselves. Scatter them so thin they disappear.”

“And here you are in a bunker. Shocked, man.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The doctor interjects. “You’re going to feel some pressure.”

He’s right. I feel it. Lots of pressure.

“Did you ever ask yourself if… maybe… that’s a little genocidal?”

“Not the same.”

“Sure, sure.”

“… just tie this knot…” the doctor chirps. “… and we’re done.”

“You think you’re some kinda change agent, fishbait? No one wants what you’re selling. They want a hero who does big shit to keep it all the same. Protect the good old status quo. He takes my jaw in his hand. I turn my face, but he holds tight. I hate it, but my arms are tied. “My dad—the great Giovanni Agosti—he wasn’t passing the keys over to me. I was never getting the big succession announcement Massimo got.” He taps my cheek and lets me go. “He always says, ‘My son, Sergio. He’s a little too open to change.’ Like it’s a bad thing. And I’m starting to think he’s been right this whole time.”

Three of the walls are cinderblock. The last has a metal door with a tiny, square, meshed window and a flap on the bottom. The fourth wall is tempered glass with a one-inch slit across the middle—probably for air flow. The hallway beyond is empty.

He puts his foot on the glass, leaning on it. “Don’t know what I did to piss him off, but he and Mom were like yeah, go to college. So I went. Most guys in my position do law or business so they can learn how to keep guys outta jail or run two sets of books. Not me. Fuck that. I studied history. Kinda to dig at them, you know? Because it’s a fucking waste of time. But I learned how shit really works. What people are gonna get behind and what they’re gonna fight. And nothing’s as tight as a common enemy. That’s you. You’re famous around here.”